


Could Be Worse

by anti_ela



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Coda, Episode: s01e01 Into the Ring, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 02:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti_ela/pseuds/anti_ela
Summary: Turk runs his tongue along his gums and winces. His fucking gums. It's been weeks, and he still can't even floss. If he gets a cavity, he's sending the bill to Daredevil, care of the NYPD.





	Could Be Worse

Comments on " **Opinion: Extra-judicial violence is not justice; vigilantes are not just.** "

 **All Comments**  
Most Replies v

 **Walter**  
_12:16 AM_  
Liberals don't seem to understand that these are CRIMINALS. The Devil gives the police EVIDENCE OF CRIMES. So he beats a few guys. So what? If he gets these assholes off the streets, aren't we all safer?

> **turkey bacon**  
>  _12:21 AM_  
>  so... you seem white.
> 
> **Walter**  
>  _12:22 AM_  
>  I AM SICK AND TIRED OF ALL YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES BRINGING RACE INTO THIS. SO WHAT IF I AM? I'M PROUD OF IT!
> 
> **suzanne takes you down**  
>  _12:23 AM_  
>  turkey bacon, there's no need to bring race into this... everyone is hurt by criminals. everyone. can't we all just get along?
> 
> **live laugh love**  
>  _12:27 AM_  
>  Sorry that you hate living in AMERICA! Sorry that you hate being FREE! If you don't want to be here, then why don't you go back where you came from!
> 
> **turkey bacon**  
>  _12:34 AM_  
>  lol.

View More Replies v

* * *

Turk runs his tongue along his gums and winces. His fucking gums. It's been weeks, and he still can't even floss. If he gets a cavity, he's sending the bill to Daredevil, care of the NYPD.

But he can stand, he can walk, he can run if he has to. (Hurts like hell—hurts at every jostled joint—but he can.)

Could be worse.

* * *

At the corner store, the guy in front of him says, "You hear about the Devil? He got Fisk! Fuckin' police didn't do shit, and now they're saying the Devil's on their list? Fuck 'em!"

Turk catches the cashier's eye, but neither man says anything.

No cop, no lawyer, no judge is bringing in the Devil. They'd lose their fucking job. They'll say the words, sure, but come on. Think how much money he's saving the City.

If the NYPD doesn't beat a man to death, the City can't be sued. If cons come prebeat, well, who'll notice a few extra bruises?

His teeth ache with all the things he never fucking says.

Could be worse, Turk Barrett. Could be dead.

But even this silence is too confrontational, too much, for the asshole ahead of him. When the cashier holds out his change, he spits on the counter and says, "Fucking commie shit! Fuck you!"

Turk steps into the guy's space, between the counter and the customer. "Fuck you! Get the fuck out! Take your quarter, you piece of shit!"

The man sizes Turk up, and for once someone decides to give him a fucking break. "Fuck you," he says, but stalks out of the store.

"I just want one fucking day," Turk says, then turns to the cashier and puts the coffee, Twix, and his cash on the counter.

The cashier shakes his head. "I got it, man. I got it."

Turk blinks as the cashier pulls money from his own pocket and puts it in the till. "Thanks," he says, voice soft.

Huh.

* * *

When he gets home, he tosses the wrapper in the trash, peels off his jacket, and sinks into his chair with a groan. He drifts into a doze interrupted by sudden jerks. The motion reawakens his pain from the dull, constant ache to sharp points, blunted now but still present, at every spot the Devil touched him.

He's used to it, though, and is mostly asleep when his phone vibrates.

Turk pulls it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"You still look like you got hit by a car?"

He straightens up. "No, pretty faded. What's up?"

The woman at the other end breathes out heavily. "I want you to know that there is nobody else. Nobody else. And that's why I'm asking."

He perks up, but keeps his voice steady when he says, "I know."

"She doesn't need to see her Daddy look like hot garbage, because she doesn't need to know why he looks like that. She even guesses what you do, and I'll kill you. I swear I will."

"Understood, Mama."

The line is quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again her voice is softer. "I've got an interview for a good job, Turk. Health insurance, dental. This works out, you won't have to make as much. You could... you could get into something safer."

Turk smiles and leans back. "Worried about me? Hmm."

She laughs. "Shut up. We'll be there in twenty minutes. And Turk?"

"Yeah?"

"Get into something safer anyway. She needs her Daddy more than she needs money."

"Yes, ma'am."

He puts the phone down. She doesn't need him, not really, but... The way things are going, he'll be dead before she gets to junior high. Old men don't take punches like kids do, and he's getting old.

Something safer. Hmm.

* * *

When he opens the door, his little angel pounces on him. He pulls her up into a hug, trying not to wince.

"Spin me, spin me!"

He shakes his head and holds her close. "Sorry, baby, Daddy's tired today. Wanna watch a princess movie?"

Her delighted shriek is his answer. He looks at her mother with the I-can't-believe-we're-this-lucky look that parents are supposed to share, but after a second they both look away. It's easy on the phone, but in person...

He shakes his head, then says, "Don't worry; you'll get it. And if you don't, they're crazy."

She's looking at the two of them funny. Although he knows her best of all the people in the world, he can't interpret that look. Then she waves her hand and says, "I know! Go watch your princess movie, softie."

He watches her walk away, then shuts the door.

They make popcorn together ("Let me do it!"—the anthem of three-year-olds everywhere), then settle onto the couch. She nuzzles up against his side—against two of the fractured ribs, in fact—but he doesn't rearrange her. She falls asleep halfway through like she always does, and he sits motionless all the way through the credits like he always does.

They eat orange mac 'n cheese from a box, and she even tries one pea. (Making a face the whole time, but still.) She claims to be too big for sippie cups, then spills her grape juice on the carpet.

"Oops," she says, looking at the puddle.

"Oops," he echoes and grabs a rag.

When he starts cleaning it up, she hops down and stamps. "Let me help!" He gets her a rag and, together, they mostly get it out. She yawns dramatically. He picks her up and tosses the rags in the sink, then walks her to the little purple bed in the corner of the living room. She picks a few plush toys from the shelf next to it, and he adds a kitten blanket on top. It's chilly outside tonight, and this building swallows heat.

"Goodnight, princess. I love you."

"Love you, too, Daddy."

He watches her yawn and curl up, holding tight to the bear he got her when she was a baby. She's almost bigger than it is now. Her breathing slows and slows until he's certain she's asleep.

Could be worse, Turk Barrett. Could be worse.

**Author's Note:**

> Every other recurring villain else gets a back story and motivations. When his boss, Anatoly, is killed, we're invested. When his boss's boss is taken down, we understand him. It just... doesn't sit right with me that they never try to get us to understand Turk. He's an asshole, sure, but he's human.


End file.
